


I'm In Love With My Car

by shella688



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, I like italics too much, it's mostly crowley tbf, zira takes the role of "nice sidekick who's down to kill a bitch"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 14:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19725667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shella688/pseuds/shella688
Summary: Everything Crowley does is for a reason. The reasoning behind the Bentley is "I like to go fast and also fuck pedestrians"Or: Crowley & The Bentley: A History





	I'm In Love With My Car

**1583**

"You - you _betrayed_ me."

Crowley's shaking voice almost broke on those final words. Everything about him demonstrated his pain: the way he couldn't keep his voice steady, the way he held himself - all wary and on edge, the desperation in his eyes (and such vulnerable eyes too, without their armour of sunglasses)

"I th- I thought we had an _agreement_ ," he choked out. "I thought maybe we were coming to understand each other."

Suddenly, Crowley stopped. It was like a shutter had been pulled down over his feelings; his eyes grew cold and hard.

"There was never a hope of this working, was there? I guess we're just too different - me being a demon and then _you_ there, looking all high and mighty.

"Well I'm done. Done with this - this _charade_ of allegiance. This _mistake_.

"See you in Hell, _bastard_."

The horse looked on impassively, uncaring in the face of Crowley's tirade.  
  


**1926**

"Aziraphale I need transport," declared Crowley one day.

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows as he staunchly refused to look up from his book.

"Listen to me, angel," Crowley whined. He'd be damned (er... even more damned than he already was) if Aziraphale wasn't going to give him attention.

" _Angel_."

No response.

"It's almost like you _want_ Below to notice all these demonic miracles I'm performing just to get around."

This at last got a response. Aziraphale sighed and looked up into Crowley's oh-so-innocent face. He considered for a moment.

"Crowley my dear boy, I fail to see what's wrong with simple public transport," said Aziraphale, as Crowley made a disgusted face.

"And there's always horses-"

"Don't _ever_ bring them up again, you hear me?" Crowley's voice was vicious as he jumped up, slamming the table loudly as he did so. "Don't you dare talk about things like this, angel. You could _never_ understand."

Aziraphale failed at hiding his smile.

**1926 (But slightly later on)**

Aziraphale glanced round nervously. Was Heaven watching, even now? Would he return to the bookshop only to be whisked off Upstairs and put on trial for "fraternising with the enemy"?

Besides, all this new-fangled technology made him uneasy.

"Calm down, angel. They're only cars." Crowley had noticed Aziraphale twitching and had attributed it (mostly incorrectly) to the machines looming at every corner.

Crowley had decided that he needed transport, so here they both were, at the Bentley dealership.

(A note for readers uneducated on cars: Bentleys are very posh and very expensive. For the demon Crowley - only a few short years away from being called a flash bastard - nothing less would suffice.)

A nervous young man approached the two. He was wearing an ill-fitting blue suit and too-big glasses. Crowley made himself appear ever-so-slightly taller and more imposing.

"I would like," he began in a deep voice that was most certainly _not_ how he usually spoke, "to buy a car."

Aziraphale muttered something about "being nice" that Crowley pointedly ignored.

"Er, yes, of course, sir." The nervous young man was trying very hard to silence the small voice in the back of his mind that told him to _run run run away fast whilst you still have the chance this is no natural being_.  
"And, er, may I ask, what sort of car?"

Crowley looked around the dealership. The vehicles gleamed impressively, all of them were meticulously cared for. And yes, any of them would be enough to make the desired impression. But still...

Stalking around the room, trailed by the nervous young man who was in turn trailed by an equally nervous Aziraphale, Crowley inspected each car carefully.

He must have gone round the room a good three times before he finally came to a stop.

"Yes, so, this is our newest car. It was only released, actually, this year." The nervous young man was finding Crowley's sunglasses to be disconcerting to say the least. And the way he moved....

_run run or hide your time is running out quickly quickly the Snake is here_

The car was... well it was car-like for sure.

(Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale knew a thing about these new-fangled motor vehicles.)

It was a shiny black, with tinted windows and real leather seats. It looked like it could go pretty fast and could signal to everyone in the vicinity "oi look at this posh bugger with his fancy car, thinking he's too good for the likes of us".

But it wasn't quite _Crowley_.

He sauntered over to Aziraphale. "Distract this salesman for me, angel? Please?"

Aziraphale sighed but clicked his fingers regardless. The nervous young man suddenly grew pale. He mumbled a generic apology and rushed off through a door marked Staff Only.

Crowley gave Aziraphale a Look.

(Looks like this can mean lots of different things, but what Crowley managed to convey went something along the lines of: "Oh, so _I'm_ the bad guy - using my _demonic wiles_ to harm and corrupt humanity?")

"Don't look like that, Crowley my dear boy. It's nothing permanent," protested Aziraphale. Crowley merely wandered back over to car.

The car in question was doing something extraordinary. Whereas before it had looked like a top-of-the-range 1926 black Bentley, it was now slowly shifting and changing. The metal creaked and protested horribly, but after some moments something new sat in front of the two of them.

It looked rather like what would soon be a top-of-the-range 1933 black Bentley. Funny how these things work out.

Crowley smiled.

"Perfect."  
  


**After the** **Armageddidn't** **(exact date** **unknown** **)**

The car was, for all intents and purposes, the same car that had met its untimely demise in a wall of infernal flames down the M25. Every inch of it was perfect, down to the James Bond bullet hole decals Crowley had got the one time he bought petrol.

The demon got in.

The controls all looked the same as before. Everything felt the same. It even all still had the same _scent_.

Crowley pulled out a CD at random and put it in as he turned on the engine.

He sped off, with The Velvet Underground's _I'm_ _In_ _Love With My Car_ blasting from the speakers.

**Author's Note:**

> In an interview Neil Gaiman said him and Sir Terry wrote a 1926 Bentley in the book because neither knew about cars and it sounded about right.  
> When the TV series was being made, he found the 1933 Bentley to be closer to what he imagined.  
> So they just went screw it and changed the car
> 
> And honestly mood


End file.
